Eyes on Me
by PseudonymousEntity
Summary: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.
1. The cupboard

****Eyes on Me****

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****Eyes on Me**** by ****Pseudonymous Entity****

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****Summary****: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.

****Warnings****: I laugh in the face of cannon. Also? Other religions, cultures, races and sexualities exist. *shrug*

****Character****: Harry James Potter.

****AN****: Basically, what I've done here is take the elements I like most from __The Rivalry__ and __Something Wicked__ to give you...this. It's the things I wanted to give you in those stories sometimes but I couldn't because it doesn't fit in or because I was afraid of the reaction. It's gonna have some recognizable elements of those stories, but will be its own distinct segment of my imagination. It's also very likely some of you will get upset or conflicted along the way. It's sort of the point, but just in case you prefer something happy-go-lucky-vanilla-expected I'd like to give you a heads up that this ain't it. And there's nothing wrong with it if that's what you like.

But that's not what this is, and I won't apologize.

So...you've been warned?

****Ever Yours, Pseu [Talented, Charming, Ridiculously Good Looking]****

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__"I knew what I had to do__

__So...you lock them up throw away the key, there's one on every family tree__

__Ungrateful! Hateful! Vile too!__

__Break their spirit so they obey, now they do anything you say__

__So...work them hard until they fall in line, there's one way and it's only mine...__

__Govern them with a heart of stone, lock them up so they're all alone..."__

****-Tough Love: The Villain's Lair****

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Harry used to dream of fantastic things.

Mysterious and otherworldly things and that such things lived within him. Something dark and shining like stars in the velvet black of the evening sky.

It only took one incident when he was five for Harry to learn to keep his dreams to himself. One incident followed by unexpected darkness inside of a cupboard. Maybe it was his fault. He certainly hadn't meant to do anything weird or to be frighening. See, Harry had a temper. You wouldn't know it to look at him now, but once, a long time ago, Harry had a temper. He had a sharpness to his tongue and a cleverness to his eyes that was humoured however reluctantly by his relatives; Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon. Because until this incident Harry had passed for normal.

Or mostly normal.

But he had a temper and he had dreams, and it was his mistake for letting them mix.

It was an ordinary day when it happened, which suited his aunt just fine. A perfectly ordinary day at the end of July. Harry was in the backyard of the house with his cousin Dudley when things went wrong. It was sunny and lovely and Harry thought the light was perfect for drawing in. So he brought out his notebook. A little one Dudley discarded a year before, perhaps. In it were drawings of the people and things Harry saw in his dreams.

Dudley, tired from trying to ride the bicycle his far too optimistic mother and purchased for him, plopped on the ground beside Harry.

"What's that?" Dudley asked.

And Harry, full of toasty sunlight and the unearned confidence of youth, tilted the page to show the drawing he was working on. A motorbike flying in the night sky.

Dudley's brows furrowed together. "That's good." Said Dudley slowly. But then, Dudley did nearly everything slowly. Unless it was eating. "But bikes don't fly. Not even on the telly."

He would know. Duley watched a lot of television.

Harry shrugged. "I didn't see it, I dreamt it. Don't you ever dream odd things?"

Dudley thought about this. "I s'pose." He said. "What else you got in there?"

So Harry showed him. He showed him drawings of boats in a lake headed toward a great a lit up castle on a hill. Faeries with glittering eyes and mean smiles. A snake long as a train, across from a page with a drawing of a small room with one bed and a wardrobe on fire. There was one with a mobile hanging over a baby crib with a tiny dog, wolf, mouse and deer dangling. And there was Harry's favourite.

A woman with flame-red hair and bright green eyes.

"You draw good." Said Dudley. "But snakes don't get so big y'know. And faeries are s'posed to be pretty."

Harry frowned. "My faeries aren't pretty at all. They're mean and play tricks on people."

Dudley frowned next. "But in the books, they're pretty and give you good luck. That's how it goes. That's what the books say."

"I don't care what your __stupid__ books say." Harry snapped. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. It wasn't like he'd ever see any of those books to know.

Dudley stood up. "Stop that."

"What?" Asked Harry.

"That...thing you do. Your eyes glow when you get mad. Ma says we're not s'posed to talk about it. That it might go away. But I don't like it! It's scary Harry." Dudley said, wrapping his arms around his middle.

Harry's eyes widened. "I...glow?"

Dudley nodded. "Y-yes."

"Are you cold?" Harry asked, standing up too. "You're shivering."

Dudley shrugged the best he could, keeping his arms tight around his middle. His lips were turning blue. "It's c-cold. Make it stop Harry. Make it stop!"

"I'm not doing anything." Harry protested.

"Yes, y-you are. I hate you. I h-hate your s-stupid pictures and your s-stupid boats and the l-lady w-with the stupid r-red hair! Why d-do you have to be s-s-such a...s-such a...__freak__?"

Harry hadn't meant to do it. Or maybe he had. In the moment. But he was five and he hadn't known what he was doing! He was just so angry which was so so stupid because they were just drawings. Just dreams. None of it was real. In the end, it didn't matter that Harry was sorry or that he was only five or that he wouldn't do it again. His cousin still ended up in a tree, a huge windstorm knocked out all the power and broke some windows. His aunt and uncle were still furious.

Harry couldn't say for sure what happened next. It was all a blur of anger, of answering fire within him, of his cousin screaming, and the being violently brought to the present by his uncle's hand on his arm. Harry was dragged inside the house and shoved into the cupboard under the stairs. There was a lot of activity outside that door. Harry knew because he sat against it in the dark listening.

Huddled there, arms around his knees, Harry listened to the commotion on the other side of the door. To his aunt frantically calling...someone. Not long after there were several sets of footsteps and voices in the house and it seemed like everyone was talking at once. Was it doctors to look at his cousin? Was Dudley okay?

Or maybe policemen to take Harry away?

Five-year-old Harry sat in the dark and he waited for someone to come get him and tell him what happened. He pushed his shoes against the dusty wooden floor every so often to make it squeak, and when he got hungry he tried naming the colours of the rainbow in order to keep his mind off of it. No one was coming for Harry, which he would learn when his eyes flew open in the darkness the following open. The door behind him opened and he fell to the floor with a smack.

Harry shot to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. He wanted to ask what happened. If Dudley was okay.

He didn't get the chance.

Aunt Petunia placed an unkind hand on his shoulder and lead him away from the cupboard and toward the stairs. As they passed the windows Harry glanced outside and stared with wide eyes. Everything was gone! The fallen tree branches and the mess he made. Like it never happened at all. But __how__? As they turned and began up the stairs the windows left his line of sight. Aunt Petunia had him stop at his and Dudley's room.

"Fetch your clothes and a pillow." She instructed, pushing him forward.

Harry stumbled to a stop near Dudley's big dresser, left hand out and grasping it to keep himself up. He straightened and looked back over at his aunt, frowning. Why did he need clothes? Were they going on a trip? Harry went over to the small closet and knelt down, gathering his clothes from the chest into a neat pile. He stood up and walked to the bed uncertainly. Aunt Petunia gave him a sharp nod, her eyes flickering between Harry and something down the hall. Like she was trying to avoid something.

Harry put his clothes pile on the soft cool pillow and lifted it up, clothes and all. Harry followed His aunt when she turned and walked away. They continued down the hall, down the stairs and then turned back toward the house, not the door. Harry followed after her, brows draw together in confusion. He was quite glad not to be punished but he was still really confused.

Aunt Petunia pointed in the cupboard.

Harry was a clever boy. He let the pillow and clothes fall from his arms to the floor. He stared at his aunt and then at the cupboard. He knew he cried and he knew his aunt said something to him but he couldn't remember what it was. Before he knew it he was in the cupboard once more, sat on a small cot someone moved into the small space. The pillow and his clothes were on one end, and he sat on the other -on an itchy wool blanket- with a roll in one hand and a warm bottle of water in the other.

The door shut and the light went out.

So it went every day. He would hear a knock at the door. The door would open. No one else was ever around when this happened. He would be lead to the bathroom to wash up and use the toilet. Then he would get something to eat. Back into the cupboard. Eventually, his aunt started talking to him when he was out of the cupboard. About controlling his anger. His emotions. About focusing on them and what caused them, then imagining them bottled up and shoved away into a corner where they couldn't hurt anybody. He wasn't allowed to ask questions and he especially wasn't allowed to bring up what happened with Dudley.

"Nothing happened silly boy." She said, waving him off. "It's that useless imagination of yours. Nothing but trouble. There's no such thing as magic."

Harry frowned. "But...I thought..."

Aunt Petunia spun him around and gestured toward the windows. "Do you see any fallen trees or whatever you imagined, Harry? There's nothing there. You sound crazy." Her voice went a little lower, softer. "You're not crazy, are you Harry?"

"I'm not crazy." Harry agreed. But the storm did happen. Didn't it?

After two weeks Harry couldn't quite remember whether the windstorm really did happen or if it was a dream. After two months he was allowed to help aunt Petunia in the kitchen if he didn't speak. After two years it was his new normal and Harry would say things had always been this way. He always lived in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry adapted to his new rules quickly.

__Don't react. No matter what happened. If it was unfair or upset you or it hurt. Pretend it away. Or let it wash over you and away from you. Stand apart from the world, don't let it touch you.__

__Don't think too much about things, don't question. If you start asking questions you'll start getting answers, and those answers might hurt somebody. You don't want to hurt anybody, do you Harry? __

__Take a breath and don't react. Control yourself. Stay disconnected and nothing can hurt you. More importantly, you can't hurt anyone. Not if you just stay calm. __

__Breathe. Keep the emotions at bay. Feel nothing. Stay in control.__

__Don't react.__

If Harry did good. If he kept himself in check and kept his voice to himself he was rewarded. Less time in the dark, more time in the daylight. He was even allowed to go outside and work on Aunt Petunia's garden. In the cool shade of the fencing, hidden amongst the vegetation and flowers, Harry could filter the rest of the world away. Soft grass and dirt beneath his knees, sweet smelling breezes against his skin and in his hair. Quick fingers worked on auto pilot and his body breathed in the fresh air and sunlight while it lasted.

It became his mission to earn as many days in the light as he could, to perfect his face, his emotions. Himself. His goal for each day, each morning, the second he left his cupboard. Less time in the dark, more in the sun.

__Anything__ but the dark.

Harry James Potter lived under the stairs in a small cupboard at number 4 Privet Drive. He was too small. Too clever. And his eyes were to bright. His family's greatest secret. Harry Potter was seven and a half now, and he was a freak. Freaks could hurt people, so it was their responsibility to keep their freakishness to themselves. That way nobody got hurt. As long as he stayed focused, stayed in control. As long as he fought to keep whatever it was that was within him to stay that way, everything would be fine.

Imagination was bad. Storybooks were bad. Feelings were bad. Dreams were useless, dangerous things. And the most important thing to remember?

There was no such thing as magic.

The day ended. The freak was returned to his cupboard. The perfectly normal members of the household enjoyed their evening programs on the telly, had dessert -apple tarts!- took their baths, said their prayers and went to bed. Hours later, in the space underneath the stairs, a glowing orb of__something__ rolled along the palms of tiny hands. Green light flickered along the face of a small boy in the darkness.

__"You don't want to hurt anybody, do you Harry?"__

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****Pseudonymous Entity****

****2019****

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__"Never turn your back, better keep your eyes on me..." -Celine Dion__

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****AN:**** ****Thoughts, Comments, Questions, Theories**** and****Limericks**** always welcome

Pain comes in a variety of forms. Some are more clumsy and obvious, like a bruise or a broken bone. Then there are pains that go years without a name, that seep into your veins and spread throughout your body, infecting everything it touches. A pain that lingers long after the moment it arrived...

****ANx2****: I haven't got a Beta. I make mistakes. I write Pureblood as 'Pureblood' not 'pure-blood'. This is the rock I will die on.

****Ever Yours, Pseu****


	2. The Boy

**Eyes on Me**

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**Eyes on Me** by **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

**Summary**: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.

**Warnings**: I laugh in the face of cannon. Other religions, cultures, races and sexualities exist. *shrug*

**Character**: Harry James Potter.

**AN**: Pain comes in a variety of forms. Some are more clumsy and obvious, like a bruise or a broken bone. Then there are pains that go years without a name, that seep into your veins and spread throughout your body infecting everything it touches. A pain that lingers long after the moment it arrived...

**Ever Yours, Pseu [Talented, Charming, Ridiculously Good Looking]**

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_"I don't really care and I never will, that's the way I am - such a bitter pill_

_I don't really care how much silence kills, that's the way I am_

_I wasn't born without a heart, I wasn't always like this_

_Watched you break me now you blame me, no, I wasn't born with all these flaws_

_And that's what made me like this, can you blame me_

_I'm a nightmare I know what you mean by that, I can't wake up..."_

**-Faouzia**

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Harry was a fast learner.

Aunt Petunia was both pleased and displeased by this fact. Harry knew it was better to be smarter than dumber even if she sometimes got angry over it. If she loved him the way she loved Dudley it wouldn't matter whether he was smarter or dumber. But she didn't love Harry the way she loved Dudley, Harry knew that. But if he tried just a _little harder_ every day, if did his best, obeyed and minded his manners.

Maybe one day that would change.

The door to the cupboard swung open. Light poured in. Harry blinked through the sharp pain the sudden transition made and left the cupboard with clothes in hand. Aunt Petunia pointed toward the stairs and turned on her heel, headed to the kitchen. Harry held his clothes tightly and made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom. He was quick about it, washing up with a rag with water from the sink, and pulling on his clean clothes. Harry picked up his sleeping clothes and put them in his cupboard on his cot when he got back downstairs. He shut the door.

"Why are you wasting your time with that Pet? Surely the air can dry them." His uncle was saying.

Harry slipped into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was at the sink drying dishes. She paused, resting her hand on the counter. "Yes dear." She turned and caught sight of Harry. He darted forward, picking up the towel and began drying the dishes. The soapy water was hot when he sunk his fingers in to get the next dish. Harry knew better than to say anything. He'd had red cracked hands before from all the chemicals his aunt used and this was no different. It wasn't even as bad really if he thought about it. I was real nice of her not to put any chemicals in other than soap.

He should be thankful.

Harry went through the motions of the morning with his body on autopilot and his ears open for any changes in mood. He finished drying the dishes and put them away, he cleaned off the stove and then found his spot. It was the little space by the wall just inside the door to the kitchen. Harry sank to his knees and sat on them, waiting patiently. If someone needed more juice or more coffee Harry was up on his feet before resuming his position. It was the perfect place for him, in his experience. It kept him out of the way and mostly out of sight unless he was needed.

Breakfast ended. Uncle Vernon left for work. While Aunt Petunia checked his cousin's backpack and his lunch, Harry got his shoes from the cupboard and slipped them on. He and his cousin left for school. In the beginning, Aunt Petunia had wanted to walk with Dudley to school. When his cousin realized the other kids, including all the big ids, walked to school too he threw a huge tantrum. Aunt Petunia didn't try to walk with them anymore. It wasn't very far and there were two crossing ladies on the way, but it made Dudley feel very grown-up.

Harry just loved being outside. Whether it was windy and the breeze bit at his arms, or if it were sunny and the heat was insistent on his back. He was _outside_ in the _light_ he could see the sky and breathe in the air and smell the wet grass from the night before and it was perfect. Being outside was always perfect. His shoulders grew lighter, his step easy, and his mind calmed.

Harry let his cousin walk ahead without him as they reached the main group. Dudley had friends. There were always four or five boys hanging around Dudley. Sometimes they were different boys. But he was never alone. Harry watched them walking ahead of him. He didn't mind walking alone in the back. He needed to focus. They were in real school now, with subjects and grades. Harry knew he was smart, he had done well last year. ow that they were finally getting grades and got to go to the library like the big kids he had a chance to prove himself. He would get good grades and do well. He would _show_ Aunt Petunia he was just as good as Dudley.

It didn't go quite as Harry thought. It was a very good thing Harry had thrust aside any attempts at imagining how school would go as soon as they entered his mind. Imagination was a dangerous thing. He did have thoughts about it though and it was not quite as he thought.

Attendance was called at the beginning of each class. The teacher put the subject on the board and then gave an introduction to each subject. They were given short quizzes to 'test their knowledge' and their books for the year were handed out. There was a little pocket on the back of the cover were you stuck in a card with your name and the year. At the end of the year you turned the book in and someone else got to put their name in it next year.

They had a reading an writing class which Harry liked fine. A maths class and a science class. There was physical education which was really just an excuse for bigger kids to throw balls at littler kids, in Harry's opinion. Don't react. When they got to run in the field Harry didn't mind it so much. He didn't mind the mud on the bottom of his shoes or the grass stains on his knees. He could run forever, he thought, if they let him. Then there was a music class on the days they didn't have physical education and history on the days they didn't have science. Music class was okay if loud. It let him sit there and fade away. He didn't have to worry about anyone watching him in that class.

There was no way to be bad at music class.

History was sort of like reading class but it was a lot of information and a lot of words. Harry let his hands write notes, looking through the book for side notes and footnotes and writing them down. It wasn't interesting but it didn't have to be. He didn't need to like it to get a passing a grade.

Time passed.

Harry did his chores and slept in his cupboard. He went to school and he was on time for his classes. He took notes and good care of his books. He kept everything in his cubby since he didn't have a bag to take them home in. It was alright though, he studied his notes in the library or when he pretended he needed a bathroom break. He could follow along well enough in class without getting lost and he could even answer questions so he figured he was doing good enough. Every essay -something new they were learning to do-, every assignment. Harry completed them and turned them in on time and no one ever needed to know he wasn't doing his homework at home.

Harry was just glad no one ever asked him to come to the front to speak. He had a hard time talking to people one on one let alone in a full room like that. Too much room for mistakes, too many people to see it. He preferred to stay quiet. His Aunt Petunia preferred it too unless she was speaking to him. Then he had to lift his chin up and keep his eyes on the floor, and speak in a clear voice loud enough for her to hear. If he did it wrong she'd let him know.

Harry was good at not doing it wrong anymore.

Sometimes Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were unhappy with one another instead of Harry. Like when today. Uncle Vernon commented on the way Aunt Petunia was doing the dishes for the third time that month. Aunt Petunia put her hand down on the counter and tapped against it with her nails. That was never a good sign. Uncle Vernon thought so too because he ate quickly.

"I was only saying Pet. You know I love you." He said. Then he was in the hallway, pulling on his coat, and out the door.

Aunt Petunia left the kitchen not long after that. Harry didn't know if she followed Uncle Vernon out the door or not. He stayed in the kitchen and cleaned up the table. Every dish cleaned and stowed away. The table wiped down and the chairs pushed in. The little yellow clock in the kitchen chimed. Harry threw the rag he was using into the sink and headed to his cupboard. It was time for school.

Harry opened his cupboard and kneeled by his cot. Harry frowned. He threw his blanket aside and the looked toward the farther end of the cupboard then went real low under the descending stairs. He chewed his lip. Where were his shoes? Harry stood and stepped out of his cupboard, looking in. Maybe if he looked long enough he'd see what he was missing. They had to be there somewhere.

"Harry?"

He felt his spine stiffen even before she spoke.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

Her hands came down on his shoulder and squeezed. "Is there a problem Harry? You're going to be late. We can't be late for school, school is important."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry agreed. "I was looking for my shoes."

Aunt Petunia pulled on Harry enough for them to look at one another directly. Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. "You_ lost_ your shoes, Harry?"

"I-"

"That's very irresponsible Harry. Uncle Vernon works hard for his money." She said. "And you know he doesn't want to give any of it to you. You're very lucky I manage to save some aside for you. Is this how you repay my kindness? By_ losing_ the things I buy you? Or is Harry Potter too good for what I can pay for him?"

Harry's heart twisted inside his chest. His fingers shook. "No. That's not it. I just can't find them. They were just here, I swear."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm very disappointed." She said. "Go to school or you'll be late."

"But-" His throat closed up and something inside of him shutdown. Harry's face blanked and didn't feel anything at all.

"Now Harry." She said. Petunia turned and headed toward the kitchen to help Dudley.

Harry darted into the cupboard and fished out a pair of black socks. His trouser legs were long, maybe no one would notice? He pulled on his socks and shut the door just as Dudley started out the front door. Harry sped up behind him. The pavement burned his feet. Harry didn't say anything. He didn't want anyone paying him too much attention. Harry made certain to walk in such a way whenever hey passed a shadow on the ground he was able to walk I the shadow for as long as possible. He even walked on the lawns they passed when he was sure no one was looking.

The day was a hazardous one. The floor of the school was smooth and his socks tried hard to slip out from beneath him. It was on the way to history class that it happened. Someone's shoe on the ends of his long trousers and Harry went down on his right knee hard. His books and his paperwork all went flying. Most of the kids walked by without a word. One kid kicked some of it across the floor with a "Sorry!" Shouted over his shoulder.

Harry kept his eyes down. _Breathe in. Breathe Out._

Shaking fingers picked up the mess as quickly as possible. He made it to his cubby and tried to open the little door. He failed twice before sinking to his knees and taking in a few deep breaths. Harry hated making mistakes. It didn't matter that he couldn't have known someone was about to step on his trouser leg, he still should have been prepared for it. Anticipated it somehow. He was lucky nothing was ruined. He put his stuff away and headed down the hall to his next class. It didn't matter how Harry was feeling on the inside as long as no one could see it on the outside. It was so much easier at home. He didn't have so many eyes to appease.

"Okay?"

Harry looked up. He was standing by the door, waiting to go in. A kid with auburn hair and big hazel eyes was watching him.

"I saw you picking up your stuff." He elaborated.

Harry could feel his heart slam against his chest and the now familiar anxious dizziness flitter in the front of his head. Outwardly his faced blanked and his eyes dulled. "I'm fine."

The kid frowned but didn't contradict him. "You can sit with me, okay? Jamie-Allen Clay, at your service." The boy put his hand on Harry's arm and pulled him into the room with him. They took a spot right by the front, where Harry never usually sat. Too many people would see if you made a mistake in the front.

But the boy, Jamie-Allen, was already sitting down and looking up at Harry expectantly. Completely out of his realm of experience Harry sat beside him. The teacher started taking attendance and Jamie-Allen made certain to correct her. It was Jamie, not James. He was careless and unworried in a way that was foreign to Harry. Later at lunch, Jamie invited Harry to sit with him. When he realized Harry didn't have anything he split his sandwich with Harry and let him have his juice. At the end of the day, Harry walked back with a smile on his face.

The pavement was still hot and hurt his feet and none of the other kids who lived nearby wanted to walk with him, but he was sort of... pleased.

When they got home Dudley went straight to the kitchen to get a snack and watch the telly. Harry trailed after him. He didn't have chores until later. Maybe he would lay on his cot and think about the strange day he had had. Harry pulled open the cupboard door and froze. There on his cot were his shoes. Where did they come from? Harry walked in and picked them up. This didn't make any sense.

"I thought you lost your shoes?"

Harry spun around. "I-"

Petunia looked down her long nose at Harry. "You told me you couldn't find them. That's why you went to school in your socks, isn't it? So why are your shoes sitting there now?"

"I-" said Harry. His throat closed up on him and he couldn't force any words out no matter how he tried. He stepped forward to the door, feeling all the while like the air around him was too thick to breathe. Eveything felt suddenly too light and too heavy all at once. Like he'd been spun in a hundred circles and his feet were made of iron and hard to lift even as the world spun around him.

"Lying is a nasty habit." Aunt Petunia was saying. "I don't appreciate being lied to. We've had this talk, Harry. You know I don't like these games. I thought you were over such childish things like telling tales and playing tricks? I thought you learned to _control_ yourself?"

He wanted to say something. Anything. Defend himself. But his head was pounding like he was underwater, a hard acidic feeling was growling in the pit of his stomach, he could feel sweat sliding down his back and that dizzy feeling was back. Because he knew his shoes weren't in there and he didn't know how they came back. Aunt Petunia couldn't hear the words he tried to say, though, and she pointed at the cupboard.

So Harry shut down. His straightened his spine, blanked his face and pushed all of his tumbling emotions back behind a barrier and cut himself off, slipping into a safe detached nothingness.

Petunia's voice softened then. "You know this is for your own good, don't you Harry? We can't tell tales. No one will like us if we do. And you want to be liked don't you Harry? Don't you want me to like you? So you'll spend the rest of the day here and you won't come out until tomorrow so you can think about this conversation."

She shut the door and locked it.

*EOM*HP*EOM*

Life went on. The first month came and went.

Harry discovered Jamie-Allen seemed serious about hanging around him every so often. They never asked the other over or called one another on the phone or anything. But Jamie sat with him in history and shared with him at lunch. He didn't try to get Harry to talk when it became apparent talking wasn't really what Harry did. Jamie was clever, Harry learned. He liked to play card games and was one of the kids chosen first for sports during physical education or recess. His dad worked at a museum so he was real good at history and reading.

Jamie had a bit of rivalry with an older boy in another class, Simon Scott. Simon's mother apparently ran in the same circles as Jamie's dad and were rivals in research. Or something. Harry hadn't paid much attention. For his part it seemed to him Jamie's dislike of Simon was more personal than anything to do with their parents. He didn't know what Jamie could have against Simon. Harry didn't know him himself, but he knew the boy was thought to be witty and clever by the other kids. Maybe it was some popularity thing? The only flaw Harry could think of that Simon suffered was from a sharp tongue and an allergy to peanuts.

It was one of those things Harry resigned himself to never really understanding. He wasn't the sort of kid who cared for drama or gossip.

In fact, Harry wasn't anything like Jamie. Harry preferred to be quiet, to avoid attention. It wasn't that Harry couldn't be just as good at sporty things and popular things if he wanted. Harry had simply learned such things weren't meant for someone like him. His Aunt Petunia had warned him against pursuing anything too physical or competitive. She said it was too easy to get riled up. Too easy to lose control. Harry wasn't _allowed_ to lose his control.

Where others were hot and fiery and explosive. Passionate. Harry must be calm and still and cold.

It was for the greater good.

Next came days of tentative friendship, shared sandwiches, and Harry's continued struggle toward perfection. He was up early every day and finished his tasks before anyone had to ask. Harry showed up on time, took notes, finished his work. Everything like clockwork. Wake up._ Breathe. Focus._ Get his clothes, grab his shoes before they had a chance to disappear. Get washed up and put on his clothes for the day. Help with breakfast, do the dishes.

Watch Vernon and Petunia act like they weren't upset with one another. Pretend he didn't hear the comments Vernon made to Petunia about the way she did the dishes or the way the napkins were folded or his shirt was ironed.

Clear the table, put everything away. Walk to school. Get to every class early. Write down notes, pay attention. Get to lunch and recess. Watch Jamie play cards. Eat his sandwich. Go back to class. Walk home. Get his list of chores, scrub and wash and sweep and organize everything on the list. Go to his cupboard and recite everything he remembered from his notes. And, of course, remain calm. _Breathe._

Focus.

"Did you hear Harry?"

Harry looked up. They were at lunch, sat at what had become their table. Jamie was sprawled in the seat beside him, shirt a bit askew and hair mussed from playing sports. Harry blinked which Jaime took as polite interest.

"We've got a big report. Like we get weeks to do it an then we turn it in. Whoever does the best gets a reward and special privileges. Isn't it exciting? My dad would be impressed by something like that."

Harry nodded along while Jamie rambled on excitedly. Harry was certain Jamie would do well. He'd probably have the best report. He often went to the museum on Fridays after school to wait until his father got off work and then they spent the whole weekend do fun things together. His father was very busy during the week but the weekend was their time together. Harry kept the vague jealousy flittering in his chest to himself. It wasn't Jamie's fault Harry didn't have a father of his own.

"C'mon Harry, play with me," Jamie whined, waving his playing cards in front of Harry.

Normally Harry refused, but perhaps Jamie would stop talking about his father so much if he was busy explaining the game to Harry. They got two games in where Harry lost to no one's surprise before time was up and they were on to the next class. At the end of the day his math teacher, a solemn woman with mousy, passed out large envelopes. One to each student with their name written on the front. Progress Reports.

The bell rang. Harry was up and out of his seat and out of the door before anyone else finished gathering their things. Harry darted down the hallway, shoes smacking the smooth shiny floor, and nearly shoved his books into his cubby. He held the envelope in his hands. Harry swallowed. One look wouldn't hurt. Harry glanced around. He broke the seal and opened the envelope.

Harry was passing every single one of his classes with and 89 or higher. Reading was his best class at 95. History his worst. He'd done well. His heart sped up in his chest. This was good. Maybe even...impressive?

Harry walked back from school completely distracted. He went through his chore list robotically. He couldn't have told anyone what Petunia fixed for dinner or why she spilt the wine on Uncle Vernon's lap when he asked for more. Harry waited until everything was cleaned up and most everyone else heading upstairs. He stopped Petunia in the hall and held out his envelope. Harry watched as Aunt Petunia pulled out the progress report and her eyes zoomed across the page.

Maybe now she would see. She would understand how hard Harry was working. How clever he was. Maybe she'd even...she'd even...

"Room for improvement."

Harry's chest deflated. "Wha-"

"And what on earth happened with History?" She asked. "Don't expect a pat on the head when you're barely even trying Harry." She put the page back in the envelope and held it out to Harry. "Don't come to me with the barest effort expecting praise. Pretending to be less than what one is doesn't come across as humility. I'm surprised you bothered to try such an underhanded tactic with me, Harry. We're family."

Harry sat on his cot that night staring at at the envelope which held his progress, eyes narrowed in the glowing green light.

She was right. He could do better.

* * *

**Pseudonymous Entity**

**2019**

* * *

_"Never turn your back, better keep your eyes on me..." -Celine Dion_

* * *

**AN:** **Thoughts, Comments, Questions, Theories** and **Limericks** always welcome

**ANx2**: I'm drawing from specific experiences in my own childhood to write these chapters and apparently I wasn't as ready to confront these memories as I thought I was. I apologize for the delay.

**Ever Yours, Pseu**


	3. The Light

**Eyes on Me**

* * *

**Eyes on Me** by **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

**Summary**: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.

**Warnings**: I laugh in the face of cannon. Other religions, cultures, races and sexualities exist. *shrug*

**Character**: Harry James Potter.

**AN**: Yes, you're getting several chapters all at once. Once again sorry for the delay.

**Ever Yours, Pseu [Talented, Charming, Ridiculously Good Looking]**

* * *

_"...I don't need you to tell me who to be_

_Can someone just hold me, don't fix me, don't try to change a thing_

_Can someone just know me? Cus underneath, I'm broken and it's beautiful..."_

**-Broken and Beautiful**

* * *

"Remember our bargain, Harry."

Petunia's voice called after him as Harry walked out the door that morning. There was no worry of that though. As long as Harry got up earlier to do chores and finished any leftover when he returned, he was free to study after school. After all, going to the library was a perfectly _normal_ thing to do. So that was how Harry found himself waving a quick goodbye to Jamie at the end of the day before heading to the library. He hadn't ever actually been inside a library before though he knew the basic idea of it. A place with a lot of books where you could sit and read or you could 'borrow' the books to read at home and then bring them back.

Shouldn't be too difficult to figure it out.

The doors to the library were nearly indistinguishable from the ceiling to floor windows lining the wall on either side. If they hadn't slid to the side when he approached Harry wouldn't have been certain where they were located. As one can imagine the inside was filled with natural light flowing up and over every desk, every bench and across the patterns of the stone floor.

After wandering through the first floor Harry realized nonfiction books were on the next floor. Annoyed, Harry headed for the stairs. The next floor looked much the same with long rows of books on either side and desks to sit at down the middle. He could see from glancing around there were some small tables and cushy chairs stuffed along the balcony and windows. For people who preferred to read in small groups or alone he reckoned. Fortuitous really, since he'd want such an area himself once he found what he was looking for.

Bypassing the two librarians at the tall desk to the lift of the stairs, Harry made his way off the stairs onto the plush carpeting. He strolled along the aisles glancing over the book titles every so often to get an idea of what sort of books were on that row. When he found books on china and the US near one another he knew he found the right section. Harry walked down that aisle with his eyes flickering up and down each row. What sort of book would be the most useful?

There.

_100 things everyone should know about history_. He pushed himself up onto his toes and reached his fingertips up as far as they would go. It was just out of reach. Taking an annoyed breath Harry bounced on his feet and-

A hand reached out and pulled it from the shelf. Harry frowned. He turned to the right to see the book being held out for him. Looking up he saw the face of Simon Scott. The boy Jamie hated.

Simon had grey deep-set eyes with something sharp and sad about them. Like sunlight glinting on a pile of broken glass. He was clever, Harry knew, if only because everyone said he was. And because Jaime complained about it every so often.

Uncertain, Harry reached out to take the book. Neither of them said anything. Harry wasn't sure if he was _supposed_ to say anything. He didn't really talk to anyone other than Jaime. Or aunt petunia. And no one else ever really talked to him if they didn't have to. Before Harry could come to decision -or just walk away- Simon opened his mouth.

"You don't come to the library." It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded because it was true. He hadn't ever been here before.

"Are you interested in History?"

Harry didn't know how to answer without having to explain himself. He ended up nodding and not saying anything at all. Again. After a moment Simon gave a nod of his own. He turned and motioned for Harry to follow him. Flummoxed, Harry walked after the older boy. Harry was reasonably certain he hadn't done anything to suggest he welcomed socializing. They came to a small round table near the balcony. There were already books placed neatly on it along with a notebook. Simon sat in a chair and kicked out the other.

Harry stared. Simon stared back.

Wary, Harry sat in the chair. Simon's long fingers flipped through the book pile, removing two, and held them out to Harry. Harry noted his fingernails were clipped short and very clean. But then, Harry had a difficult time imagining Simon playing in the dirt. Harry took the books and looked at them. One was about modern history. The other about ancient political history. Harry blinked. Sort of advanced wasn't it?

"What do you want to know?"

Harry's head shot up. Simon was studying him from across the table.

"Important things." Said Harry, after a moment.

Simon cocked his head. "So you _can_ talk."

Harry blinked in response because of course he could talk.

"Alright. The important things." Simon repeated. "According to my mum, the most important thing to know about history is who did what and why. And the consequences of what they did, of course."

And that was how Harry started learning about mad kings, avenging queens, cunning families and all the different ways someone could be assassinated in the name of honour and glory and crowns. Learned the hows and whys of the wars of the past. What started them and how they were ended. Through that first day at that little secluded table two rather important things changes for Harry. Firstly, he realized he did in fact like history.

He'd just been paying attention to the wrong parts of it.

Secondly? Harry could see, watching Simon, how someone like _Jamie Allen_ could be threatened by someone like Simon. It had been difficult at first, for Harry to wrap his head around someone as popular as Jamie needing to worry about such things. He could see it now though. In the way Simon spoke every word as if he put a lot of thought into it before opening his mouth. How easily he spoke to people he'd never met and how quickly he understood them. Simon had repeated the beginning of his speech on history three times while talking to Harry until he found the way to say it that insured Harry understood him and it kept his attention.

Simon was confident in every way other people liked to think they were.

He knew himself and liked himself and didn't worry what other people thought of him. Not because he didn't care but because it didn't occur to him_ to_ care. And that was a stark difference in the eyes of Harry Potter.

Day after day Harry went to the library after school and every day he would find Simon at the same table off to the side waiting for him without waiting for him. Curiously expectant perhaps. And every day he would answer any question Harry had. Launch into tale after tale of Roman conspiracies, indulgent French queens and fierce warriors.

Simon eventually elaborated on the conflict between him and Jamie. It was not what Harry expected.

"My mother and his father reside in similar circles in the academic and research communities. Jamie's father likes to elaborate on what is already known, and the people who said or discovered those things. My mother? She likes to delve into the murky bits about where exactly the information came from. The motivations and catalysts for the events, and the places where the histories have been glossed over or rewritten to suit the authors' needs. She asks uncomfortable and controversial questions for a living. He paints bold underlines of what is already assumed and questions nothing." Said Simon.

"I don't know how they managed to stop arguing with one another long enough to have an affair, yet here I am."

And that was how he came to know that Simon was Jamie's older half brother through an affair his father had with Simon's mother just before she got pregnant with Jamie. And that she eventually got sick then killed herself a few years ago. Jamie blamed Simon and his mother for all of it. The story was like something from one of Simon's history books.

Harry felt it only fair to offer something in return. So he told Simon about being an orphan, his cousin Dudley, and how much he wanted his aunt to love him. He wasn't sure what response -if any- he was expecting. Simon hadn't said a word during Harry's story, only listening intently. The Simon lifted from the table a practice essay Harry had written for him on the Borgia family. He looked down at it and then up at Harry.

"Why do you need someone's approval to be clever? To be the best? You're somebody aren't you, Harry? Give yourself permission." Said Simon. And there was an odd muted ferocity to the statement.

"I excel at schoolwork and I love history not because my parents are brilliant historians and researches. I do it in spite of them. My whole life they have used me against each other, tried to bribe me and manipulate me into liking the things_ they_ want me to like and doing the things _they_ want me to do. But I am my own person Harry. If I am to be the best it is because I put myself there. And it will be in the subjects I choose for whatever reasons I need and they will have nothing to do with it. They won't get to claim that they made me what I am and if I fail I won't be able to blame them for what I don't become. It's all on me. I don't have to prove myself to them, I only need to prove myself to_ myself_."

His eyes narrowed on Harry, "And it is the same for you. You're already so clever Harry. You learn so quickly. You don't need anybody's permission to be intelligent or stand out. You already are. You already do."

There are moments, Harry learned, in that earth-shattering silence, when you realize something sharp and glittering buried deep inside of you is buried deep inside of someone else too. It feels like meeting a stranger you've known your whole life. Kindred spirits, Harry thought they were called. And it made some dormant part of Harry coil up tightly and bare its fangs, full of ambition and anger and thirst. Some forgotten piece of himself just waiting for Harry to rediscover it.

The day ended and another day came and Harry found himself looking forward to his conversations at the library the way he used to look forward to his cupboard door opening every morning. In some ways, it was just the same.

He'd been living in the darkness and finally found a light.

* * *

**Pseudonymous Entity**

**2019**

* * *

_"Never turn your back, better keep your eyes on me..." -Celine Dion_

* * *

**AN:** **Thoughts, Comments, Questions, Theories** and **Limericks** always welcome

**ANx2**: What do you think about Simon? What consequences might come from the events of this chapter?

**Ever Yours, Pseu**


	4. The Jealousy

**Eyes on Me**

* * *

**Eyes on Me** by **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

**Summary**: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.

**Warnings**: I laugh in the face of cannon. Other religions, cultures, races and sexualities exist. *shrug*

**Character**: Harry James Potter.

**AN**: POV switch for this chapter.

**Ever Yours, Pseu [Talented, Charming, Ridiculously Good Looking]**

* * *

_"...Wait, it's just about to break, it's more than I can take - everything's about to change_

_I feel it in my veins, it's not going away - everything's about to change_

_There's a war going on inside of me tonight…."_

**-War of Change**

* * *

Jamie Allen strode down the path, eyes flickering about him with nothing holding their attention for long.

He'd finally gotten his father to agree to take him with him on his next trip. Along with no school for two weeks, it was also something he could rub in his face the next time they saw each other. Jamie hated him. A quiet piece of Jamie knew it wasn't Simon's fault. Neither of them had been alive yet when Jamie's father decided to cheat on his wife with the new young researcher at work. But Jamie could never get past the arguments between his parents in the months after his mum got sick.

She kept bringing up some secret awful thing his father had done. How he had known it must have been something very bad indeed for his parents to stay in different rooms, his mother crying and his father drinking.

The worst part of it was all those afternoons and night when his father disappeared for hours to take care of work. That he had been with that woman while Jamie's mother had been dying. Then the news that Simon was his brother from the whole affair which started months before either of them was even born and carried on even after Jamie's mother saw fit to end her life and leave him there.

Jamie loved his father. And he hated him. He hated that no matter how he tried he was never as clever or as talented as him. He never liked history the same way, he was not as useful or interesting to their father. He preferred Simon and that git turned his nose up at the attention as if their father wasn't good enough for him. Both their father and Simon's mother practically drowned the other boy with gifts and affection. Sometimes using him against the other and sometimes using him to make up with the other. Trips, books, private tutors. Whatever Simon wanted he got.

Not at school though. There they abided by unspoken rules. Each boy stuck to their own territories and friends.

Now?

Finally, he'd gotten invited along with his father. Jamie had kept his grades nearly perfect for months. He did extra credit and worked hard on all his projects. His teachers spoke well of him. All of his sports went well. Jamie's father had finally given in. He finally had some things to rub in Simon's face. Thing's that stuck up boy had never gotten. Jamie would relish in it.

Right now he was off to find Harry. He wanted his help deciding what sort of things he should pay attention to and what topics he should read up on before he went. Harry Potter was a very quiet, very odd boy. He was wicked smart though, underneath those dull eyes and the often expressionless face. Jamie wondered how the boy wasn't in a higher grade altogether. He always seemed so bored with...well...everything.

He did as well or as poorly in his classes according to how much attention he bothered to give them. Nothing was difficult for him.

Odd one, Harry. Jamie had known they'd get on well from the moment they met. There was no star-struck look in that boy's eyes when he saw Jamie or discovered who his father was. In fact, Jamie was under the impression Harry couldn't care less. Jamie took great pride in knowing he was the only one in school the soft-spoken boy ever willingly talked to. He was the only one who could keep a spark of interest in those dull eyes. Jamie never had to compete for Harry's attention. What's more, the boy would know exactly what Jamie should look up before his trip.

He pulled open the glass doors of the library and looked around. Jamie knew Harry started going to the library after school. Some deal he'd made with his aunt. Harry didn't share much. Jamie had long ago concluded that it just didn't occur to Harry that he was being vague.

A moment's hesitation then Jamie headed to the lift, pressing the button for the second floor. He didn't think Harry would waste his time on storybooks. Harry could barely tolerate other real live people, he wouldn't want to read about them. He waited patiently for the chime and the doors to open. It was a lovely library. Jamie wasn't one for books outside of their necessity to his studies, but he could see the appeal of a soft and quiet environment. He started down the middle aisle, looking back and forth. Trying to catch a glimpse of wild inky black hair.

That's when he heard it.

It was low and breathy. And even though Jamie had never heard it before he knew instantly who the laugh must belong to. Dying of curiosity, for what in these dry texts could possible make Harry laugh? Jamie followed the direction he thought it came from until he found a set of small table pushed along the balcony every so often. He felt stupid for not thinking to look for such tables in the first place. Harry never liked being out in the open. Jamie had just turned a corner when his body locked up seemingly of its own accord. Every muscle pulled tight and stiff. His throat thick and suffocating.

For there at a table sat his Harry. Green eyes wide and glittering. Wild and alive in a way Jamie had never seen them. The smaller boy sat attentively, laser-focused on the only other person at the table. Simon.

Jamie's hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. Why did Simon get everything? Jamie saw Harry first! So why was it Harry never looked at Jamie like that? Why wasn't he ever good enough? Throat tight, eyes burning, Jaime turned on his heel and left the library.

What came next was really a series of events piling one on top of the other until it all crashed down.

* * *

**Pseudonymous Entity**

**2019**

* * *

_"Never turn your back, better keep your eyes on me..." -Celine Dion_

* * *

**AN:** **Thoughts, Comments, Questions, Theories** and **Limericks** always welcome

**ANx2**: We got a Jamie-Allen POV in this chapter and a glimpse at the way other people see Harry. We'll get one more Jamie POV. What did you find out about Jamie's character this chapter?

**Ever Yours, Pseu**


	5. The Catalyst

**Eyes on Me**

* * *

**Eyes on Me** by **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

**Summary**: At five-years-old little Harry Potter experiences his first big accidental magic. One that drastically changes his worldview and the course of his life. The Harry that eventually arrives at Hogwarts is one shaped by his childhood experiences...and the darkness of a cupboard.

**Warnings**: I laugh in the face of 'cannon'. Other religions, cultures, races and sexualities exist. *shrug*

**Character**: Harry James Potter.

**AN**: Brace yourselves

**Ever Yours, Pseu [Talented, Charming, Ridiculously Good Looking]**

* * *

_"I can't take back the bite this fruit was not meant for me_

_Deception and vice the finest I'd ever seen_

_But what I would do to be loved by you_

_You didn't ever care for me, You didn't ever care for me_

_You didn't ever care for me no_

_Now I'm sitting here wondering...wh__y."_

**-Deception**

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning when his dad came home.

Jamie knew this because he'd been staring at the clock on his dresser for the last six hours.

It wasn't an unusual thing to come home to an empty house. His father was important with an important job that didn't conform to things like dinner time. Jamie knew that and he was used to that. He quite liked that his father was so important. Sure it was a little lonely but his dad tried to make it up to him. He always remembered Jamie's birthday and made sure there was food and snacks in the house when he wasn't home. Jamie never really wanted for anything and he was allowed to be alone because he could be trusted.

Father said so. He was nearly nine you see.

Jamie's neck twinged from the odd angle and his knuckles ached from his clenched fists. Quitely, Jamie snuck over to the door and out to the hall. He looked down the stairs and watched his father run his fingers through his messy hair. He placed his keys in the dish on the table by the door and stumbled to the couch. Shoes were kicked off and a briefcase left on the floor.

But Jamie wasn't stupid. He saw the ticket stubs beside the keys and smudge on his dad's left cheek. He'd been with _her_ again.

Jamie went back to his room and flopped on his bed.

So it went the next week.

Apparently, he and _that woman_ were on good terms again. Friendly terms. So Jamie walked home alone and unlocked the door with the key that hung on a chain around his neck. He unpacked his bookbag and dutifully set about finishing his homework at the kitchen table, eyes flickering over to the clock on the wall every so often. He picked up his work and put in carefully in his bag and set that by the door for the next morning.

There was a suspiciously football-shaped package on the shelf in the coat closet that Jamie would have pestered his father about if he was home. He did have a birthday coming up, after all.

Purposefully not thinking about why his father wasn't home or what he was doing instead, Jamie looked through the icebox and the cupboards and put together dinner. He knew where all the utensils were and he was tall enough now to reach the pots on his own without the little green stool he once used.

When it was ready he fixed himself a plate which he set on the table. The heating element was turned off and he scooped up the leftovers into resealable containers, labelled them and put them in the refrigerator. Jamie picked at his food, cleaned up the kitchen, ran himself a bath and put on his pyjamas. Ignoring the clock on his dresser Jamie read comic books and listened to the radio. His eyes throbbing, neck straining, throat tight. Until he heard the key in the lock downstairs, the door swinging open and his father walk in. He listed until he knew his father wouldn't be coming upstairs, then he turned over onto his stomach and willed himself to fall asleep.

Jamie decided he wasn't good at ordering himself to sleep. He must have looked pretty bad because Harry actually spoke unprompted at lunch.

"Jamie?"

His eyes dragged themselves across the table. "Hmm?"

Wide green eyes stared at him like they saw right through to his soul. "Are you alright, Jamie?"

He later supposed that was one good thing to come out of all of this. At least Harry was giving him a little attention now that he thought Jamie might fall over at any second. The small boy took to checking on Jamie between all of their classes and at the end of the day before Jamie walked home and Harry left for the library.

The thought of the library and who was waiting for Harry there put Jamie in a sour mood. It wasn't enough that _that woman_ had to steal his father, did her son have to steal his friend too?

The next morning his father assured Jamie as they walked out the door that he could come with him on his next trip and that he hadn't forgotten his birthday was coming up. He gave Jamie a pat on the head and left. The football-shaped package was in the car as his father drove off and Jamie knew it was for Simon, not him.

Of _course_ it was.

It was hard to focus in class. Or anywhere. He needed to get some sleep soon. He was worried all the time, about his father and where he was and whether he would really bring Jamie along this time. And then there was Simon. He was everywhere now! That was another thing. Simon and Harry. hough Jamie knew they spent time together after school neither of them ever talked at school. It made Jamie question his memory. Maybe they weren't as close as he thought?

Maybe he imagined it?

Jamie couldn't help the awful possessive ad mean feeling he got whenever he was around Harry now. Comparing the way he looked at Jamie with the way he looked at Simon. What was so great about Simon? A softer, quieter part of him wondered...what was wrong with Jamie?

Another week came and went and he'd be going on a trip with his father and everything else wouldn't seem important. That in mind, Jamie went to school with a lighter heart than he'd had for days. It didn't last. Nothing good ever seemed to.

This morning Harry agreed to play cards with Jamie until class started. With Jamie leaving the house early to avoid his father they'd managed to be a school at the same time. Jamie had only just managed to get Harry to start playing card games with him a few weeks ago. He was proud to point out he was the only one to get Harry to play any sort of game, even if it was just a card game and not sports. Harry never spent much attention on it and Jamie always won. Really he was just humouring Jamie, games weren't Harry's thing. But it was another way Jamie got Harry's attention all to himself. He couldn't put a name to why that was important, only that it felt like it was.

This morning however something unexpected happened. Harry won.

Dull green eyes stared at the cards and then up at Jamie, blinking in question. The silent language only Jamie bothered to learn.

He grinned. "Look at that Harry, you won!"

They played three more games before it was time for class. Harry actually paid attention, perhaps startled he'd managed to win, and in fact, won each game. Jamie's smile turned into a small frown. He felt...conflicted. On one hand, he was quite glad Harry was playing with him. Somehow though it seemed like just another thing Harry wouldn't find interesting about him anymore. And when had he learned? Did he always know and let Jamie win? Or...or had he learned from someone else?

Like Simon?

Morning classes went pretty much as expected. Nothing terribly exciting happened. Lunch came. Jamie slid one of his sandwiches toward Harry only to find there was a small bento box already in front of him.

"What's that?" He asked.

Jamie didn't know for sure that Harry's home life wasn't the best but he did know for whatever reason his family didn't give him nice clothes or pack him a lunch. Maybe they were really poor or maybe he lived at a group home or something. Jamie didn't push. But he knew it wasn't nice wherever he lived, and that Harry never had lunch.

Harry gazed down a the lunch box as if just as confused as Jamie. His cheeks flushed.

It was a gift, Jamie guessed. He wanted to be pleased for Harry. He wanted to know who was giving him gifts a little bit more. Who else was with Harry when he wasn't with Jamie? Did he have a lot of other friends? Friends with moms who made nicer lunches than the sandwiches Jamie barely remembered to make in the morning? Other boys he knew well enough that they gave him things or made him laugh or played games with him?

Were they better than Jamie?

Jamie sat in the last class of the day, pensive. He kicked his legs, tapped his fingers, twisted in his chair and looked up at the clock.

He'd missed something. Somewhere something happened and he didn't know what it was and now nothing was going the way it was meant to. Harry still spoke to him. He asked if he was okay if Jamie slipped up and forgot not to look tired or accidentally wore the same shirt two days in a row because his dad hadn't been home to do the laundry and Jamie didn't how to do it. Harry still helped him study for the trip his dad promised to take him on and listened when Jamie spoke.

But something was different. In the way Harry held himself and the way he looked at people. Some internal change Jamie wasn't a part of and he didn't like it.

The next day came and went with the revelation Harry was a fast runner. Some other kids bribed Harry with a fizzy drink to get him to stand in for Kevin who was at home sick. They said all he had to do was take the ball and run to the end as quickly as he could. No one expected Harry to accept or even to be any good. But he was.

Harry was fast. Jamie whooped and cheered him on. The gym teacher pulled Harry aside and from Harry's uncomfortable smile and flushed cheeks, Jamie guessed it was a compliment. That wasn't so bad. Harry suddenly being popular with the sports kids. Jamie was a sports kid after all and he knew they'd soon grow bored with Harry when he didn't participate in their conversations and they realized he was more of a reader than a sports kids.

He'd have Harry all to himself again so he wasn't worried.

The end of the day came and the winner of the essay contest Jamie had nearly forgotten about was announced. It was Harry.

Watching Harry walked up to the front of the class to get his essay back head down and shoulders hunched because he hated attention, Jamie felt something somewhere inside of him snap like it was bending too far. He swallowed and stood from his feet when class was dismissed. Determined to at least look like he was pleased for Harry.

"Well done Harry." Said Jamie, stepping into the hall and clapping a careful hand to Harry's shoulder. Harry was odd about touch that way, you had to go slow. He pasted on a smile.

Jamie tried not to puff up at the relieved look that briefly flashed over Harry's face when he saw Jamie. Harry gave him a nod and shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. He wouldn't brag about it, Harry wasn't that sort of kid. He was really smart though and Jamie thought it was good that Harry bothered to do the essay even if he did beat Jamie out. The sour part of himself was shoved to the side for the moment.

"I was wondering-"

Jamie never got to finish his sentence. Their teacher and the principle brought Harry to the side and Jamie watched them talk to Harry about the testing required to advance a grade. He felt another little snap. If Harry went up a grade...would he still have time for Jamie? Would he meet older more interesting boys who could invite him over without worrying about whether their father was home or how they'd explain it if he wasn't?

Would he be in Simon's class?

Jamie followed after Harry in a rance. Barely aware of the students in the hall around him, going through the motions of putting his things away in his cubby. He followed Harry down the stairs and along the path by the sports field in a daze. It came back into focus and there was Harry on the ground and Jamie stood before him with his hands outstretched. Shock filtered through his system.

Had he done that? Harry's elbows and knees and bum were dirty with grass and mud. His eyes though were as dull as ever. More even.

That was the problem. As Jamie's hand shook a little and he tried to formulate an apology or an excuse. Harry regarded Jamie with confused, distant interest. Wondering why Jamie pushed him yet not terribly concerned about it.

Indifference, that's what it was. That's the way Harry used to be all the time before they became friends He'd looked straight through Jamie until then. Now here he was and Jamie could suddenly see that he didn't care as much whether Jamie liked him anymore. That was why he didn't ask Jamie questions about History anymore or sit next to Jamie with his book at break anymore.

He'd started moving on without Jamie, and Jamie hadn't even realized.

"It's not fair." The words came out in a strangled whisper.

He pushed Harry back down just as he was starting to get up shoes sliding in the muddy wet grass. He held tight to Harry's shoulder's and kept them on the ground. He didn't want Harry to leave. He wanted to talk about it. To explain, maybe.

He saw it then. A flicker of interest. Focus. So Jamie kept Harry there and just started yelling everything that was on his mind. Anything to keep his attention on Jamie. Anything to keep him there with him. One person in his life could stay, couldn't they? One person could choose Jamie.

It was stupid. Entirely the wrong way to go about it. This wasn't the way he should be having the conversation. Jamie felt bad but more than that he felt -finally felt- seen. And Jamie needed to be seen even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

"Look at me, Potter." A dark piece of him enjoyed Harry's flinch. He hated being addressed by his surname. "You were lucky, you know. I got everyone to stop messing with you. I made sure you ate at lunch every day. It was me who noticed you when no one really saw you. How..." His breath floated up in the air. Jamie felt a shiver, it was getting cold despite the sun.

"How can you forget me so easily? How could you do it, Harry? You knew I wanted to win the essay contest. You didn't even care about it! Or about school or sports or card games. You never did. Why did you have to steal it all from me? And then...and then..." His throat was tight and raw and it was hard to speak. "Why are you pulling away? I would have been happy for you. You could have told me you were entering the contest. That you knew how to play card games or run fast. You could have told me, Harry. Why are you leaving me behind? I d-don't...I don't understand..."

Harry's brows furrowed and something shadowy moved behind his dull eyes. Jamie still, watching. Would he say something? No. Harry, gently, put his hands up against Jamie's chest and moved him back until he could get to his feet. Jammie sat there on his knees, breathing heavy, eyes stinging. Harry turned away from him then as if he wasn't even there.

"Why am I _doing_ this? Why do I hurt so bad?" Jamie's numb lips whispered. He sucked in a breath and glanced up. "Look at me, Harry. Please?"

The wind had kicked up at some point though Jamie hardly noticed it now. He struggled to his feet, staring after Harry. He felt sick. Jamie took a few steps forward, fear of being forgotten flittering through his heart, intent on coming up with some kind of apology. He took another step and then Harry sort of curled in on himself and dark clouds burst out of him Before Jamie could ask anything at all wind slammed into his back and his feet slid out from under him.

Jamie fell, hands out trying to brace himself. Something really did snap this time. Jamie used a swear he'd heard his dad use whenever he and that woman were mad at each other. Tears slid down his face and he blinked a whole bunch trying to see his wrist. It hurt bad. He tried to get up but it was too icy and slick and his feet kept threatening to slim from under him again.

Ice?

Jamie paused and looked around. Ice was forming like sheets of glass over the mud and as the strange violent black cloud descended on him he saw frost twisting up the blades of grass, glittering in the sun...

* * *

**Pseudonymous Entity**

**2019**

* * *

_"Never turn your back, better keep your eyes on me..." -Celine Dion_

* * *

**AN:** **Thoughts, Comments, Questions, Theories** and **Limericks** always welcome

**ANx2**: We got another Jamie POV and a little more insight into his life. As Jamie is learning, our actions have consequences. Sometimes they're bigger than we anticipate.

**Ever Yours, Pseu**


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